The Argosy — page 216: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Tenant of The Cedars. 199 At length, emerging from a young oak plantation, I came un- expectedly upon the stream—which at this point was both broad and deep——and on the slope of the opposite bank stood The Cedars. It was a picturesque rustic pavilion, with a high, thatched roof, whose overhanging ledge, supported on pillars, formed a verandah, on to which the lower windows opened. Behind it the trees clustered closely, and the garden in front sloped to the edge of the stream, which was spanned by a light rustic bridge. I crossed it, and passed through a wicket gate into the garden, which was in beautiful order ; the parterres a mass of brilliant bloom, the grass-plot like green velvet. It was not till I was close to the house that I perceived the figure of the custodian, who was seated in the verandah. He was a man of from thirty-five to forty, with rugged strongly- marked features, and melancholy dark eyes. His figure, though -mis-shapen, was vigorous and muscular, and there was a look of suppressed power about him which suggested hidden reserves of force, both mental and physical. I had ample time to make these observa- tions, for he did not seem to notice my approach, nor did he reply when I addressed him. There was a book in his hand, a well-worn volume of Shakespeare, but he was not reading. He satin a listening attitude, with head upraised and lips apart, his foot gently beating the ground, as if in time to music. Involuntarily I listened, too, but heard nothing except the lonely murmur of the breeze, and the distant forlorn note of a wood-pigeon. At length I touched his arm. He sprang to his feet, staring at me with vague alarm. “JT am sorry I startled you, but you did not hear me speak,” I said. ‘ Will you ——” “How long have you been watching me?” he interrupted, brusquely. “7 have but this moment come,” I returned. ‘I wish to look over the house.” He hesitated; and seemed half inclined to refuse me admission, but thinking better of it, nodded, and limped on before me to the door, drawing back to allow me to pass in. I found myself in a small tiled entrance hall, with doors on either hand. . He threw open the one to the left, and ushered me into a dusky, low room, furnished in a style of quaint simplicity, which suited the character of the house. “This is what they call Sir Richard’s study,” he explained. ‘‘ The parlour across the hall is the same size, but better furnished. I can’t show it you, for the door’s locked, and—and I’ve mislaid the key.” His hesitation convinced me that he was telling an untruth; for some reason of his own he did not wish me to see the room. How- ever, I only said quietly: ‘‘I think I noticed that the window was Open ; we can go in that way.” He reluctantly followed me, and stood outside as I entered Cconnicloooks